10.30.2011

let it be, let it be.

let's leave it.
let's just remember denpasar departures.
let's let that be enough (for now).

reality checks:

..."but i'm good at it"...

...."good at relationships? or good at staying in relationships?"....

10.22.2011

10.09.2011

shhhh...

i didn't really want to talk anymore. the words had all been used up, put into sentences and phrases in the same ways over and over and over again. even this has been said before. so i just wanted silence. i wanted a period of nothingness. a moment of just listening to the world spinning on. we'll find the right words one day and say them in the right ways. or, we'll just fill this silence with something else -- greatness, happiness, love.

now,
shhhh.....

a study session with love:

linguistic analysis

"heartbreak"

belonging to two lexemes: heart & break.
compounding: putting two words (that shouldn't be together) together.

the drifters, the dreamers

we (you and you and you and me),
we're g(l)o(w)ing.

xx

willows beach

you and i under september's sun.
indian summer. endless summer.
oldest heart strings.
i remember us at 3, at 4.
and now, even still, the universe pairs us together.
i make you laugh.
you make things familiar.
we are years and years deep.

i cherish this,
the oldest two still standing.

balcony writings:

I AM SELFISHLY AND SELFLESSLY DEVOTED TO MY LIFE

your alphabet

your alphabet
without vowels
is a lonely place to be
no u,
no i,
no we.

letters written abroad (to the girls who mean most)

hey girl,
with your ocean eyes, world eyes,
you choose what you see,
you pick what you take in.
forgo the loveless bedrooms,
set your sights on something higher.
look into the writer’s soul,
let him translate you into prose.

dear yoga

dear yoga,
i only want to spread my legs for surf gods,
modern-day poseidons.

may

i want to tell you the stories of my travels in freckles — connect the dots into constellations and the paths i took to get from here to there.

i want to show you what i saw through a kaleidoscope — a world mixed up in beauty and fragmented, intoxicated memories.

excerpts from a balinese journal

These are the only decisions I want to make for the rest of my life:
Where to lie
Whom to love
What music to play

Life Felt So Heavy Before Here.

poppies II

the clouds have swallowed the sun. this is my favourite type of day, when the heat settles and the air isn’t so sticky. of course, this is a rarity, this afternoon haze, so we take advantage of it — reading by the pool, napping under the fan, chasing deals in the streets…

everything else is past tense. i am present.

“if one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere” - d.h. lawrence

today reminded me of this:

“my people were fair

and had sky in their hair

but now they’re

content to wear stars”

may 2011.

Both day and time have escaped me. As usual, I packed too much and want to rid myself of all possessions. All I want are constant sun and sea. Our first night here we met the boys. Ty, Klara, and Tom followed. And, then, Shayne. It’s too early to tell where everything (with us) is at. We just are.

The Sandat is as I remember it to be — a Garden of Eden. This time, Canadians fill the rooms instead of the Swedish Girls. People come and go — a surfer here, an Australian there, a lover near, a lost love there.

We woke with the sun today, hopped on the the back of the boys’ motorbikes, and headed to Belangan. The tide inched in slowly, teasing our toes, as Sarah and I drowned in sunlight. The drive from Kuta was hectic, as always, a tidal wave of flashing metal machines. But, the road to Belangan was surrounded by everything lush and real. Balinese Life. “Welcome to My Paradise”

I try not to be too lazy here, but the heat is a warm blanket you can’t help but curl up in. Sarah’s already sleeping beside me.

With Gratitude,

L.

the skin we live in [magazine words become poetry]

the gradual
realization of what exactly bonds us:
reading in bed,
practicing yoga,
seagulls,
history mounted on his bedroom walls.

he said:
"she's gorgeous for her free-spirited promiscuity. exquisitely pretty, the kind of pretty that only gets prettier upon closer inspection of her tiny, pale face with large green eyes, set wide apart".

she said:
"i met a boy there. i fell in love. i still can't believe he exists"

this is the story of two young lovers.